


All the good he did not do

by Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge



Series: Sam and Jack (AKA: the Jam Fam) [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (and I do not approve), (as in he acts like he does in episodes like the last ones in S14), (he’s really not in this that much though), 14.19 Alternate Ending, Angst, Castiel is very angry on Jack’s behalf, Extended Jam Fam, Gen, I looked up quotes about guilt, Jam Fam, So much angst, The focus is on the others’ reactions to the Ma’Lak box, The title is from a quote by Voltaire, dean critical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 00:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18789142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge/pseuds/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge
Summary: What if Castiel had come back later?(Aka: another alternate ending to 14.19.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here I am again. Still stuck on that darn box. This time, though, I’m also mixing in a little of another thing which continues to bug me about BuckLemming episodes- their apparent complete disregard for how long some things take. Supernaturalwiki tells me that the playground with the gate to heaven is “somewhere in the Midwest.” As I refuse to believe that every single important location in the show happens to be within easy driving distance of a bunker in the middle of nowhere in Kansas, I have decided that it would be entirely feasible for Castiel’s journey back to the bunker to take several hours. I’m also changing it so Jack manages to hold on a bit longer inside the box (and am getting rid of his hallucinations in the process).
> 
> This fic should be four chapters long, I think. I’m mostly finished with the third chapter already, though, so updates should be pretty fast, with this chapter being the shortest.
> 
> Anyway, enough of my pre-fic ramblings. I really hope you like the fic! And, as always, please feel free to leave kudos/comments if you feel the urge. ^_^

Sam’s room was too big.

He’d never really thought so before. Because he’d never really thought  _ about  _ it before. It was a room. He slept in it. It held convenient items and was a place where he could go if he wanted some modicum of time alone to think or work in private.

But now…

It was just so big. He lingered in the doorway, staring in at all the  _ space _ , and all he could think of was Jack. Locked in a metal box and unable to move and all alone and in there because of  _ him _ . Because of  _ Sam _ . Because Sam had made nothing but bad decision after bad decision. Because Sam hadn’t been there for him. Because Sam had been too selfish to let him die in peace. Because Sam had been too preoccupied with mourning the dead to attend to the living, breathing  _ child _ who had needed his help.

“We did the right thing.” That was what Dean had said, before they parted for the night. Hand steady as he’d rested it briefly on Sam’s shoulder, and eyes hard and calm and certain in a way Sam hadn’t been for so very, very long now.

Jack would never feel someone touch his shoulder again.

He would never even  _ see _ another person again.

Nausea rose in Sam’s throat, thick and fast and overwhelming, and he stepped into the too-big room, closed the door behind him and sat heavily on the bottom of the bed, vacant gaze falling somewhere in the vicinity of the books and papers which decorated his desk.

Was he really going to do this? Just come in here and go to sleep and wake up and go about his life as though it didn’t matter that the room next door had lost its occupant to… to that  _ thing?  _ Was he really going to walk these halls every day, pretending like everything was okay, while guilt gnawed at each and every cell of his body and every step he took sounded like  _ wrong-wrong-wrong  _ to his ears? Was he really going to eat in that kitchen where Jack had eaten and read in that library where Jack had read and train in that gym where Jack had trained and pretend all the while that he didn’t know that Jack was trapped in a  _ box  _ just a few short corridors away, waiting for a cure which would never come and a father who had lied and manipulated and trapped him and no longer even came  _ close  _ to deserving such a title?

All these years of narrow escapes when it came to locking family away, and now they’d finally succeeded.

And the only reason they’d succeeded was because Jack  _ trusted  _ him.

And look at what he’d done with that trust.

Nausea hit again, and Sam flew into the bathroom, knees slamming into the tiled floor as he retched and heaved over the toilet, the air which came out as empty as the promises Sam had made. Then, once he was certain the convulsions  in his stomach had ceased, he sat back against the cool porcelain of the bath and just…

Nothing.

Just nothing.

Nothing seemed about right for something like him.

All those years rebelling against being seen as a monster, and now look what he had become.

_ Look _ at him.

…He couldn’t do this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel discovers the Winchesters’ betrayal.

Castiel knew _something_ was wrong as soon as he walked through the door. It was in the stubborn set to Dean’s shoulders, even while the elder Winchester’s back was turned. It was in the timid hunch of Sam’s frame and in his seeming incapability to meet anyone else in the eye. It was in the tenseness in the atmosphere and the lack of any kind of urgency. He flicked his gaze over the library’s table even as the explanation of Jack’s situation spilled from his lips, taking in the lack of the open books which would usually be spread out around Sam’s laptop under such circumstances, and the open bottle of scotch sitting next to Dean’s half-empty glass, instead of the beers he tended to favour casually. Yes. Something was _definitely_ wrong here.

He would never- not in a million years- have imagined just _how_ wrong, though.

It was a strange, hollow sort of disbelief which filled him as he listened to what the Winchesters had done. Betrayal, too, sharp and solid on Jack’s behalf as he realised Sam’s role in this in particular. Dean… Dean was not a surprise. Which was a jarring enough realisation in and of itself. But _Sam_? Sam, who had shared a unique bond with Jack which Castiel, even after all this time, couldn’t _quite_ seem to match? Who had been the one whose opinion Jack favoured most highly, and in whom Jack’s trust had been strongest? _Sam_ , who had been so devastated by Jack’s death that Castiel had half feared when he disappeared on them that the Hunter had chosen to follow Jack right through the veil? _Sam_ , who had always appeared so tender and careful and so _sure_ of Jack’s goodness?

To hear that _that_ Sam had played _any_ part at all in this- let alone such a crucial one- was just…

Even Enochian didn’t have a word for it.

“Where is the box now?” He growled out, cutting off Dean’s meaningless apologetics and feeling a stab of fury as, even _now_ , Sam continued to avoid his gaze.

“He’s in there for a _reason_ , Cas,” Dean started up again, rising now to his feet with a hard expression which would usually have cut off any and all thoughts of dissidence. Not this time, though. Not when it was Jack on the line. “We’re not letting him-”

“Where is my _son_ , Dean?”

“It’s this way,” Sam spoke at last, drawing Dean’s attention as he, too, stood, and moved with a quiet voice and still averted eyes towards the door Castiel had entered through. “The box. I’ll take you to it.”

“ _Sam-_ ”

Castiel stopped Dean’s protestations with a glare, though, and set off after Sam, barely even heeding the angry footsteps which followed along behind.

Sam stopped by the door to the dungeon. “In here.” The Hunter’s posture practically radiated shame- from his inability to look anywhere but towards the opposite wall to the way the fingers of his right hand trembled minutely where they rested against the wooden door frame- but Castiel barely spared him more than a furious glance as he strode into the room and took in the crude metal box these humans he had once thought noble had made Jack’s final resting place.

Well not any longer.

He covered the distance in seven strides, uncaring of Dean’s warning of “Cas, you can’t-” from where the hunter entered the room behind him, and reached out to unlock the first of the three clasps-

Only for blinding hot agony to tear through him the moment skin touched metal.

A startled yell of “Castiel!” sounded from the doorway, followed rapidly by a rush of footsteps and a gentle touch against his back, and then Sam’s concerned features entered the corner of his vision, comforting in a way they no longer had any right to be.

_Was this the last face Jack saw before he lay down in that box?_

Sam must have seen something of the accusation in his face, because the hunter backed away again instantly, hands raised and face mournful, saving Castiel the trouble of having to shake off his deceptive touch on his own.

He reached for the box again-

“You can’t open it,” Dean stated, blunt and harsh and entirely unrepentant. Castiel almost appreciated the straightforwardness, despite how much it pained him- at least it was more honest than what the _other_ Winchester had proven himself. “The Ma’lak box was designed to hold an Archangel, Cas. With Billie’s instructions. As long as it’s sealed, it’s warded so only me and Sam can open it. And neither of us are gonna let that happen.”

The fury nearly overwhelmed him at that. Castiel got it under control, though, though it was with no small measure of difficulty. Then, hiding nothing in his expression, he turned his focus to the other traitor in the room. His only hope now was that somehow- _somehow_ \- he would be able to bypass whatever words he knew Dean had to have used to talk Sam into this. If Sam had ever _truly_ cared for Jack, then surely there had to be at least _some_ small measure of hope that he could be reasoned with?

“Let him out. No, you look at me!” He demanded, already seeing Sam’s gaze start to falter. Seeing it begin that all too familiar uncertain flick over to his big brother. “Jack _trusted_ you. He came back here because _you_ called him. Even after everything which has happened. Out of all the people alive on this Earth, Sam Winchester, I would have thought you the _least_ capable of betraying him like this. Now, if you have even a single shred of the man we both thought you in your body, you will let him out _right now_.”

Before today, Castiel would never have believed it possible for him to feel true disgust towards either Winchester. As he watched Sam in this moment, however- watched as this once strong-willed human looked with hesitant eyes between Dean, Castiel, and the box in which Jack now lay, oblivious to all which was occurring outside of his newfound cage- watched as he took a breath and straightened- watched as he let that fateful “I can’t” fall from his lips- disgust was _all_ he felt.

Years spent dedicating himself to these two humans. And _this_ was what they turned out to be.

“Get out.”

Sam left without a single complaint, head bowed and shoulders drawn. Dean lingered only a few seconds longer, studying Castiel and seemingly familiarising himself with the new divide which would be their reality from this point on. Maybe even, Castiel thought uncharitably, wondering how long it would be before he could consider this forgotten and call on Castiel for help once again.

Well. If that was the case, Dean was going to be sorely disappointed sometime in the future.

And then he, too, was gone. And Castiel was left with a son he couldn’t save in a box he couldn’t touch in a Bunker which had never felt _less_ like a home.

And there he stayed.

Hour after hour he sat by Jack’s side, door sealed and silenced should either of the Bunker’s inhabitants attempt to interfere, hoping that- on some level at least- Jack would be able to sense his presence, and wracking his brain for anything- _anything_ \- he had learnt in his long years of existence which could help them here. Anything which would open this box. Anything which would restore Jack’s soul. _Anything_.

But there was nothing. Nothing an angel like him could do.

Not even the war in heaven had left him feeling this powerless.

“This won’t be how it ends, Jack,” he reassured in the end, as he stood at last to take his leave. “I won’t let it be. Just hold on in there, okay? I’ll be back once I’ve worked this out.”

Then, in what was easily one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, he made his way out of the room.

The Winchesters were together again when he emerged- both seated, this time, in the kitchen, each with a cup of coffee resting before them, and Dean with a half-eaten bacon sandwich.

Castiel had been in there for half a day, and for an entire night.

Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped at the sight. Maybe he should have just kept walking. But the idea of them just going on with their everyday lives- as though they _hadn’t_ just performed a more heinous deed than a more naive Castiel would ever have dreamed possible from them- triggered something in him, and he found himself fixing them with one final, determined glare.

“If I could find a way to go back and make it so Jack had never met you, I would.”

Dean’s jaw merely tightened further at the words- as sure a sign as any that he had chosen not to waver from this course. Sam, however, after a minute flinch, actually had the _audacity_ to stand up and take a half step forward.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I don’t think even Rowena would be able to help you with this.”

That same disgust from before rose up in a powerful swell, and Castiel turned on his heel, making his way towards the garage.

Well. At least- while obviously not Sam’s intention- he now had a destination in mind. Maybe Rowena _wouldn't_ be able to help. Not by her own power.

…But maybe the Book of the Damned _could_.

~~~

Just a few short hours later, Castiel found himself in front of a nondescript, dark green door. Before he could even raise his hand to knock, however, the door opened to reveal Rowena on the other side.

“Castiel.” She glanced briefly around the area behind him, then stepped aside to allow him entry. “Sam told me you might be dropping by.”

“ _Sam_ isn’t-”

The harsh response died in his throat as Rowena’s couch came into view.

Or, more specifically, as the person sitting _on_ Rowena’s couch came into view.

Jack rose to his feet and offered up an awkward wave. “Hello, Castiel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles innocently*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We travel back to the moment everything changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... my laptop broke. Big time. Luckily I was paranoid enough about the sudden emergence of a buzzing noise to transfer this chapter to a google doc (and my work and fanfic stuff are backed up in other locations), so I didn’t have to go back and try to write the whole thing over again. It *did,* however, interrupt my flow and force me to revert to writing on my phone (albeit with a Bluetooth keyboard). Sigh.  
> That being said, I’m still hoping to get the next chapter typed up this Saturday. And I’m also thinking I might extend it to five chapters instead of four, with the final one being a sort of ‘how would this impact the final episode?’ type deal. Just a heads up.
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this instalment! As always, feel free to let me know your thoughts- I love hearing from you guys!

**_TWO NIGHTS AGO_ **

Jack did _not_ like it in here. It was dark and quiet and uncomfortable and his limbs ached to move and he wanted something to _do_ and his phone was running out of power and he kind of wanted to try to use his powers to try to recharge it but every time he used his powers lately something went wrong and he could remember Dean’s grumbling about how expensive it was when he’d first heard about Sam setting everyone up with them and he didn’t want to risk damaging it in some way because he didn’t want to give anyone even _more_ reason to be mad or disappointed in him but it was also _dark_ and he didn’t want to lose his only light and he didn’t know how much longer he would have to stay in here before they would finish putting together whatever it was that was going to fix him and his breaths were coming faster and faster and he couldn’t _move_ and he wanted Sam and he couldn’t _breathe_ and he didn’t like it in here and he didn’t want to be in here any more and he wanted someone to let him _out_ and he couldn’t-

“SAM!!!”

The word came out as a broken, pathetic yell, ending in a whimper and echoing around the hollow space surrounding him. It didn’t- it didn’t even sound like _him_ anymore, and all he wanted was for Sam to be here, with a reassuring gaze and a gentle hand on his shoulder and comforting words to chase away the darkness and the fear and the tiny, persistent whisper in the corner of his mind which wondered whether Sam and Dean were ever planning on coming back for him at _all._ He wanted Sam and he wanted Castiel and he wanted to walk outside in the bright, bright sunlight where there were no walls or lid pressing in on him from all sides, restricting his movement and bringing up dark, painful memories of that other world and everything he and Mary had been through there and he wanted to just wake up and realise that this was all just a bad dream or else to turn back time to when he hadn’t had Mary’s blood on his hands and there hadn’t been even the slightest sliver of doubt in his mind about whether or not Sam loved him because everything had been _good_ and _he_ had been _good_ and _they_ had been _good_ and there might have been bad and dangerous things out there but they always had each other and now he was all alone and it was dark and he was scared and breathing was becoming harder again and he _didn’t like this didn’tlikethisdidn’tlikethisdidn’tlikethis and he didn’t want to be in the dark anymore and he wanted Sam there to tell him everything was going to be okay and he wanted Castiel there to tell him he was still proud of him and he wanted to be sure again that Dean hadn’t changed his mind about killing him after all and hewantedhewantedhewantedhewantedhewanted-_

A ‘click’ cut through the stifling silence his ever-quickening breaths hadn’t quite been enough to quell.

Then a second.

Then a third.

And then the lid was lifting and light- blinding even while indirect- was streaming into his eyes and Sam was there with a finger on his lips, a determined expression, and a hand pressed over Jack’s mouth.

“I’m getting you out of here, alright? But you need to be _quiet._ Can you do that for me?”

Utterly confused and still somewhat overwhelmed, Jack nodded jerkily in reply.

Sam’s face completely collapsed in response. “ _God_ , Jack,” letting go of Jack’s mouth, he stood up and offered Jack his hand, I am _so_ sorry.”

Jack took it, drawing on Sam’s strength as he climbed out of the box and stood shakily on the floor.

“You came for me.”

“I-”

“Did you already finish the cure? Am I going to get my soul back?”

Drawing back slightly, Sam ran both hands through his hair. Jack watched as they completed their journey, his brow knitting together as he took in the faint tremor which seemed to be running through Sam’s frame. He’d seen Sam scared before. He’d seen Sam trying to be brave.

He’d never seen Sam like _this._

Then Sam drew himself up, bracing himself, and suddenly Jack knew with _absolute_ clarity that he did _not_ want to hear what was coming next.

As shaken as he still was, however, he was too late to stop it.

“There never was a cure, Jack,” Sam confessed. And, although his voice was steady, there was no denying the guilt and earnest apology in his posture, expression, and gaze alike. “We lied.”

Jack froze.

“What?”

“We- _I_ lied, Jack. I was scared and I was angry and I was overwhelmed and I wasn’t thinking straight but… but I never should have done it. Never should have agreed to it. You don’t-” His eyes flicked past Jack, roaming briefly over the box. Hatred- deep and dark and focused entirely inward- sparked in his gaze, and he shut his eyes briefly, bowing his head in the process. “I am _so_ sorry, Jack.”

Still not entirely certain he was fully comprehending what he was hearing here, Jack took a single step back, only stopping because his back hit the side of the box. What- what did this even _mean_? He didn’t- he didn’t understand. He had been in there for _hours._ He had been all alone. He had been _trapped._  And Sam- Sam had been the one to put him there. Because he needed to be where he couldn’t hurt anyone until the cure was finished. That was what Sam had said. That was the whole reason he had agreed to get in there. All of that- it _couldn’t_ have been a lie.

But it was.

Sam had lied to him.

Sam had trapped him.

Sam had wanted to- he had been going to-

“You were going to _leave me in there!_ ”

He didn’t even realise how loud he had become until Sam suddenly began desperately shushing him, wide eyes flying between Jack and the door and back.

“I know,” he admitted, the crack in his voice audible even despite the low volume he was using. “I _know._  And you have _every right_ to be angry at me, Jack. I won’t hold it against you. But if Dean hears us-”

He trailed off, the warning sitting heavy in the air. Then- possibly in an attempt to avoid whatever he saw in Jack’s face, and possibly because he wanted this to take as little time as possible, he began picking up a number of weighty-looking bags from a pile Jack hadn’t noticed before, loading them into the box in one neat layer. Jack’s first instinct was to offer to help, but he found himself incapable of opening his mouth to utter the words. His whole body- his whole _self-_  suddenly felt numb all over.

Sam had tried to lock him up.

Forever.

Sam had called him down here, promising forgiveness and help. And it had all been a lie.

Sam had lied to him.

 _Sam_ had _lied_ to him.

And Jack had had no idea.

Had… had Sam lied to him _before_ this? Had he _ever_ believed that Jack was truly good? Or had it all just been a lie this whole time? One giant trick designed to keep Jack in line. First to get Mary back, then later as a tool to use against Lucifer and Michael. All of those times Sam had said that he believed in him- had _any_ of them been true? Or had Jack just been deluding himself into thinking himself _loved_ and _wanted_ this entire time?

“Jack.” A voice broke through the empty silence in his ears, and Jack looked up to find guilt-ridden features and worried eyes. Were even _those_ true?

“Jack,” Sam repeated again, his tone even more hushed than before, yet no less desperate in its intensity. “I know this is a lot to take in. And I promise I will explain everything if that’s what you want. And I know you probably don’t trust me right now, and you-”

The faint patter of familiar footsteps sounded somewhere down the hall, and Sam’s head jerked in their direction. Then, in a flurry of movement, he was turning off the lantern he’d brought with him and rushing to seal the box’s lid back up again. “And you have _every_ right not to trust me,” he continued all the while, words streaming out in a rushed whisper as he clicked the last seal into place, positioned a rickety-looking stool beside the box, and grasped Jack by the shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes. “And if you just wanted to run away and never have to look at me again I would totally understand but… but please. Just… before Dean realises what I’ve done. Go to Rowena. Tell her what happened. She’ll understand, and she’ll help you. I’ll… I’ll try and send Castiel to you later, when he gets back. He doesn’t know anything about this, and he’ll want to make sure you’re safe.

“Please, Jack. I know you have no reason to believe anything I say right now but… but just this once. This one last time. _Please_ trust me.”

And as a curious call of “Sam? You down here?” echoed in from outside, and Sam bit his lip and crinkled his face and tightened his grip against Jack’s shoulders, what other choice did Jack have?

Despite everything, he still couldn’t help but have hope.

He nodded, and Sam let out what seemed like a lifetime’s worth of relief in a single exhale. “Then go.”

The last thing Jack saw as he took flight was Sam settling into position on the stool, head bowed and one hand resting delicately upon the metal rim.

The last thing he _heard,_ however, was a single, silent prayer of “I’m sorry” echoing even down to the deepest recesses of his mind.

And then he was gone.


End file.
